


How to Win Friends: Dean Winchester Edition

by Rainbowcat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Kid Castiel/Kid Dean Winchester, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowcat/pseuds/Rainbowcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Though he’d never willingly admit this, Dean Winchester is actually unnerved. It’s not like Dean can’t show</i> emotions,<i> of course, but fear or anything resembling fear isn’t actually an emotion, is it? It’s just a dumb physical reaction to the dumb outcome of a dumb bet. And Dean is ten years old and that means he’s not a baby. He’s not Sammy.</i></p>
<p>AU in which Cas is the new kid at school, and Dean gets to know him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Win Friends: Dean Winchester Edition

“You have to do it. It’s a _bet_. We _shook_ on it.”

Dean glares coolly at Ash and Chuck, but his composure falters a little as the corner of his mouth twitches downward. Though he’d never willingly admit this, Dean Winchester is actually unnerved. It’s not like Dean can’t show _emotions_ , of course, but fear or anything resembling fear isn’t actually an emotion, is it? It’s just a dumb physical reaction to the dumb outcome of a dumb bet. And Dean is ten years old and that means he’s not a baby. He’s not Sammy.

“Yeah,” he counters, flicking at an invisible spot on his shoulder, “but I thought you’d pick, like, a real person. Like Becky.”

From across the room, little bespectacled Rebecca Rosen beams at the three of them. Dean sniffs and turns away.

“Castiel’s real,” Chuck insists, eyes wide. But the next second he’s distracted because his unstable pile of notebooks and textbooks are sliding off the desk again, loose papers spilling everywhere. “Oh! Oh no.”

Dean wavers, stuck. On one hand, he’s too proud to do what his buddies selected as his punishment. On the other hand, he’s too proud to wimp out on a lame bet.

Stupid pride.

He battles with himself for a brief moment before he heaves himself out of his seat. The teacher is off in a different corner, supervising whatever group project the class currently isn’t working on, and Dean knows he has a only a small window of time to get this done. He passes Ash and Chuck, giving them a hand gesture that earns him a scandalized gasp. Dean grins.

Castiel is sitting by himself, nose buried in a book. Dean knows he was put in a group with Jo and Pam, but they seem to be ignoring him now, giggling among themselves and leaving the new kid to make himself as small as possible in that weird outdoor coat he insists on wearing inside. The other boys had already teased him about it, so now Dean suppresses the thought that he kind of knows how Castiel must feel in that thing, like it’s his shield. He can’t have anything in common with a freak who just moved in down the street and who doesn’t say anything to anyone, ever. Castiel is the freak. Dean isn’t.

The knowledge of that separation is heavy on his mind as he approaches the kid’s desk, and something squirms in Dean’s gut. Luckily, all the guys who teased Castiel are in a different part of a room, laughing loudly and aiming spitballs at Becky. This will be over fast. Castiel will say no, and then Dean can slink back to his seat and stick his tongue out at Chuck and Ash. It’ll be easy.

“Hi, um.” Dean clears his throat. Castiel doesn’t look up. “Hello? Hey, new guy!” Still nothing. Incredulous, Dean crouches down to try and catch his gaze. “Castiel?”

Finally, the boy lowers his book, and he fixes Dean with a stare so deep he almost jumps away from it. It feels like he’s being subjected to a mind-reading and it’s weird. Swallowing, Dean becomes aware of his odd squat on the floor and stands back up.

“I heard you the first time.”

“Oh, uh…” Dean flounders. He can feel Chuck and Ash watching him even without turning around, and feels the urge to pop his collar so as to hide his reddened neck.

“What do you want? Just tell me what you need and leave.”

Blinking, Dean prepares himself to tell Castiel that he’s weird, and that’s not how friendship works, but then he remembers that they’re not friends and he’s only here to do one thing.

“I wanted to… um.” Dean turns around, and sees his buddies gaping at him with unabashed enthusiasm. He turns back to Castiel and squeezes his eyes shut. “Wangodatewime?”

“Pardon me?” _God_ , this guy’s weird. Weird, weird, weird, weird, Dean keeps repeating to himself, as if it’s a mantra that will finally slow the frantic pace of his heart. There’s no reason to be nervous.

“Oh. Um. I wanted to know if you’d go on, like… a date. With. Um. Me.”

Dean resists the temptation to bite down on his knuckles, anything to keep himself from yelling out, and he can feel his pulse in his ears, beating out the words _please say no, please say no_. Castiel sniffs and picks up his book again.

“Yes.”

“Wait, what?” Dean does a double-take. Castiel had ground out the word _yes_ like any of his classmates would say _go away_ , and the mixed messages leave his mouth dry.

“Yes, Dean Winchester. I will.”

Dean’s mind suddenly spins in twenty different directions. He doesn’t actually know anything about dating, except that one time when he’d held hands with Lisa Braeden during recess and everyone had speculated if they were, you know, _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend_. They never did anything else, though. From television and books, Dean thinks a date might involve taking someone out to dinner or a movie or something, and usually there was _kissing_ , ew, and Dean is so not doing any of that with Castiel. Maybe they should just go to the playground and Dean can take Castiel’s fingers, super quickly, and then that would be over and he’ll have upheld his dumb end of the bet.

“Oh. Uh, okay. Let’s meet at the playground at eight on Sunday, okay? And um.” Dean’s voice catches in his throat, and he doesn’t want to know who else other than Ash and Chuck may be watching. “Please don’t tell anyone about this… okay?”

Once more, Castiel lowers the book. “Whom would I tell, Dean?”

Dean swallows, then becomes aware of the fact that his throat is still dry and does it again. “Um. I’ll just. See you then.”

He flees back to his seat, and as his friends bombard him with questions he picks up his group’s worksheet on balancing equations, scribbling furiously with his mouth clamped shut.

It takes until when the bell rings for his heartbeat to return to its normal pace.

 

Dean Winchester is many things, but he isn’t stupid.

Not really. He might not have his multiplication tables memorized, and when the teacher puts him on the spot by asking how to spell some dumb word, he might forget a letter here or there. But he knows how to change the oil in a car and how to dodge the toughest meanie during recess. He’s well aware of how to trash a pack of cigarettes without his dad ever finding out and how to make Sammy laugh after he’s been crying. And that counts for something.

He also knows that the playground will be deserted at eight on a Sunday night. All the families are in their cozy suburban homes eating dinner, parents are encouraging their kids to finish homework, and the sky is dim enough that no one lets their sheltered little child outside. He knows that he and Castiel will be far removed from the judgmental eyes of their classmates, so he can complete his end of the bet and never talk to the freak again.

John Winchester is out tonight, so Dean puts some frozen pizza in the oven for Sammy, cuts it into little pieces for him, and then sets him down in front of the TV with instructions not to move until he gets back. Then he slips out of the house, keys in hand, and jogs the few blocks to the playground.

Dean is early, but Castiel is earlier. Dean can spot his slouched form on one of the swings, eerily motionless; he turns his head when he hears Dean coming.

Dean cautiously takes the swing next to him and exhales, a little out of breath from running. The air is cool and pleasant. Away from the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom, he feels calmer, even comfortable. Castiel doesn’t talk much, which Dean both appreciates and fears. It’s hard making small talk. He doesn’t get to watch enough adults to know quite how it’s done, and he’s bored with it before it even starts.

“Just moved in, I guess?”

Castiel nods.

“Okay, um. How do you like Lawrence so far?”

Once more, Castiel affixes him with that cool glare, but Dean’s starting to learn that there’s not necessarily any anger behind it. “It’s the same as every other place we’ve lived.”

Dean knows he sucks at talking, but he does wish that Castiel could maintain his side of the conversations and ask him some questions. This is a date, after all, and he thinks that on dates, people are supposed to be interested in each other. Then they do things like hold hands and kiss, but Dean’s still wary about those.

“Where did you live before?”

“Many places.” Castiel squints into the distance. Dean looks to see what he’s staring at so intently, but there’s only the sandbox and the teeter-totter. He waits for Castiel to add some details, but he doesn’t.

“Do you still talk to your friends from before?” Dean kicks off the ground and starts to gain some momentum, enjoying the swooping of his stomach whenever he swings downward, but feels stupid when Castiel doesn’t swing with him. He brings himself to a stop.

“I don’t have any.”

There’s an awkward pause in the not-conversation. Dean isn’t really one of the popular boys himself, but even he has people he’d call friends. Chuck and Ash, sure, and he gets along well with Jo even though she’s a _girl_ , and of course, he always has Sammy. He tries to imagine what he would do without being able to talk to them and can’t.

“So, uh, do you like cars?”

Castiel turns his eyes on him again and tilts his head. “What?”

The heat rises up Dean’s neck and face again, and he can’t believe he feels this stupid talking about what should be such a simple topic. “You know, cars. I love working with them, since I’m not allowed to drive yet, duh, but I still practice in the driveway. My dad has a ’67 Chevy Impala. She’s really beautiful. One day, when I get my license, I’ll get to drive her and we’ll go on a road trip,” he finishes happily, and it takes him a moment to remember Castiel’s presence. When he looks over, he registers a new expression on Castiel’s face; Dean belatedly recognizes it as amusement. “What?”

“Your father’s car has a gender?”

“Obviously. Why, yours _doesn’t_?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Once more, there’s a lull.

Dean breaks it. “What about movies? You have to like movies.”

“I don’t watch movies.”

“Seriously? No cars, no movies? What do you do with your time?” Dean asks incredulously.

He’s not an expecting an answer, but he gets one anyway. “I read a lot. I like to draw.”

“What do you read?” Dean’s genuinely curious.

“I like textbooks, and the Bible. But fiction is good sometimes. I finished _The Great Gatsby_ last week. It was very good.” Castiel is speaking a little bit faster, and Dean catalogues it as interest in the topic at hand. Finally, something the guy cares about.

“Textbooks?” Dean laughs. He wonders if Castiel’s interest in the Bible will turn him into one of those overly faithful preachy nutjobs John likes to rant about, but it doesn’t seem that way, so he dismisses the thought. “Dude, you haven’t lived. Hey!” He gets a sudden idea, thinking of Sammy alone on the couch at home. “Maybe you can come over to my house. Since you don’t watch movies, I can show you _Star Wars_. Come on, it’s a classic! You can’t go through life not knowing _Star Wars_.”

Castiel glances over his shoulder down the block, presumably in the direction of his house. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

They walk back to the Winchester house mostly in silence, punctuated by Dean’s attempts at furthering small talk. He points out which families live in which houses, adding little anecdotes for each.

“That’s Crowley’s place. He’s a few years older and a real troublemaker. I heard he once slapped a teacher and got suspended for a week. Over there, that’s Missouri. Sammy an’ me don’t see her that much, but she’ll secretly give us candy and stuff, so she’s cool.”

“Sammy?”

“My little brother. He’s a dork. You’ll meet him when we get there.”

They don’t say anything more until they reach the house. Dean unlocks the door and precedes Castiel into the hallway, where they take off their shoes. Castiel keeps his odd coat on, and Dean wonders if he gets cold a lot, or if his half-formed idea from the classroom was correct and he uses it as some form of metaphorical protection against the outside world. He abandons this thought process, though, as Sammy jumps up from the couch and runs toward him. “Dean!”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, smiling broadly. “Come meet Castiel. He’s my – friend – from school.”

An odd expression breaks over Castiel’s face at the word _friend_ and Dean’s hesitation at saying such, but Sammy doesn’t seem to notice. “Nice to meet you, Castiel,” he says politely, and actually sticks out his hand for Castiel to shake it. To Dean’s surprise, he actually does. Nerds.

“Come on,” Dean says with an eyeroll, tugging on Sammy’s sleeve, leading him back to the couch. “Castiel’s never seen _Star Wars_. We’re gonna watch it.”

“Yeah!” With a grin, Sammy flops down on the couch and watches Dean fiddle with the VCR. Castiel sits next to him and folds his hands across his lap. Moments later, the first notes of the _Star Wars_ theme blare out, and Dean triumphantly takes his seat on the last available spot on the couch.

About an hour later, Sammy is fast asleep, his too-long hair falling into his eyes as he curls against the armrest. Dean and Castiel are still watching, and Castiel, to his credit, is alert, occasionally asking questions or taking in Dean’s helpful commentary.

“How does Han Solo communicate with the Wookiee? They speak different languages.”

“I don’t know, man, it works, okay? People always talk to their dogs and cats and stuff. Heh, imagine having Chewie as a pet.”

“Chewbacca is not a domestic _animal_ , Dean. It’s obvious he and Han Solo have a bond that resembles brotherhood.”

His head swims with Castiel’s odd word choice, but either Dean’s getting smarter, or he’s just paying less attention to it, because it definitely gets less noticeable. “Whatever, Cas.”

It’s then that he realizes that this was supposed to be a date, and he doesn’t think he’s doing a good job. Guiltily, Dean reaches one hand over, after glancing at Sammy to make sure the little nerd really is sound asleep, and slides his palm into Cas’s. He expects some kind of startled reaction, but Cas just wraps his fingers around the back of Dean’s hand, shifting a little to accommodate their new position.

So it’s going pretty well; better, even, than holding hands with Lisa Braeden, because Cas isn’t hyper and giggly and it’s not like _he’ll_ run off and tell all the other girls what he just did, like Dean was a prize to win at a talent show or something. He’s about to take his hand back, but then the walls of the garbage compactor start to move in and suddenly Cas is gripping _tighter_ , inching forward in his seat. Dean swears the guy might actually be holding his breath, and it’s not like he can blame him. Dean’s seen this movie thousands of times, but even he feels his stomach clench with nervousness as Han, Leia, Luke, and Chewie try to avoid being crushed to death.

Like always, R2-D2 pulls through and the walls stop moving when they’re only inches apart. Dean actually hears Cas sigh and the pressure on his hand relaxes, but Cas doesn’t let go and so Dean doesn’t say anything, letting it fade to the back of his mind while his favorite heroes plan their escape from the Death Star.

It’s only a good while later, after Luke explodes the Empire’s deadliest weapon once and for all and everyone wins medals like they should, that Cas finally moves to separate them. Dean’s palm is clammy and he wipes it on his hand. So he’s done it; he’s finally upheld his end of the bet. _If you lose, you have to ask whoever we tell you on a date. We’ll just pick someone, and you can’t argue, okay, Dean?_

“That was quite good, Dean. I didn’t expect to like it so much. It’s clearly an archetypal hero story.”

“What’s ark-typal?”

“Nevermind.” Cas stands, and the first real smile Dean’s ever seen him produce lights up his face as he glances down at Sammy’s sleeping form. “I don’t want to wake your brother. I should go home now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean frowns; the sky outside is pitch black. “You live down the street, right? I’ll walk you.”

He locks the door behind the two of them and they head down the street together. Now that the date’s over, Dean’s mind is swimming with unspoken thoughts. He had planned on doing what was required of him and then never acknowledging Castiel again, but his earlier conviction isn’t enough to block out the fact that he had fun today. Chuck and Ash never want to watch _Star Wars_ with him.

“Hey,” Dean says timidly, and Cas trains those cool blue eyes on him. “Now that you’ve seen _A New Hope_ , you should come over and watch the other two sometime. They’re awesome, too, and probably really… ark-typal.”

To his surprise, Cas smiles yet again, stopping in front of what’s presumably his own house. “I would like that, Dean.”

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Dean adds quickly as Cas unlocks the door, and for a moment, he thinks he sees Cas’s hands fumble. The moment passes. “We can just hang out. You know. Buddies.”

“Alright, Dean,” Cas says softly, and he turns in the threshold to face Dean. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Goodnight.”

The door closes. Dean stands there for a moment longer, chewing on his lower lip.

“Sleep tight.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a chunk of a larger and way more ambitious fic that's been sitting in my drafts forever and that I may not get around to finishing. As is, I thought it was a sweet moment between young Cas and Dean, and felt particularly apropos now that the new _Star Wars_ is out. Props if you caught the _Harry Potter_ reference!


End file.
